Her Soul Had Such Desire
by nefertitis
Summary: Her dream would fade every night as the girl went back inside, and she would still be in her rags, her face still thin, her hair still lifeless and unkempt and her stomach still gnawing from hunger.


Eponine was sitting at the edge of the river. She had two heavy rocks in her pocket, and an even heavier rock in her hand. All she had to do was jump in, and that would be that. She dipped her foot in the water and pulled it out quickly. "Bloody hell! That's cold as fuck." She grumbled. She wanted her peace, her freedom, but the coldness bothered her. Why should she feel so irritated in a moment that's supposed to be so final? She glared at the water as if it made a personal affront to her, dropped the rock and decided to walk home.

It was then that she saw her sitting in her garden, plaiting a long braid, and her eyes were transfixed. She was beautiful. Eponine used to be that kind of beautiful. Her mama used to braid her hair just like that and smile at her. She wore dresses with frills like the one this girl was wearing, and she used to have skin just as smooth. She didn't anymore. She could barely remember the last time she looked like that, but the memory was there. It was like something she could almost taste, a whisper she could barely hear, something tangible that she was unable to hold on to.

And so she looked.

And she dreamed.

And she hoped.

And she desired.

She would come to the house every night and watch in the shadows as the girl danced without any music in the moonlight, her chestnut hair flying freely in the wind. Or other nights when she sat with a soft smile on her face, looking at nothing, her mind lost. Or other nights where she braided flowers into her hair and giggled at the butterflies that gathered at her feet. She looked like something from a fairytale her mother would read her a long time ago, of a princess from a far away land.

Eponine imagined herself in her place. Her cheeks plump and rosy with happiness, she would eat the finest supper and her mother would kiss her on her cheek as she wished her goodnight. She would have a bath, with warm water and put on her night clothes. And then she would sneak out, when she was unable to sleep for such joy and run around a garden without a single care. Her dream would fade every night as the girl went back inside, and she would still be in her rags, her face still thin, her hair still lifeless and unkempt and her stomach still gnawing from hunger.

And she wanted.

She saw her every night, and every night she kept coming back. It wasn't just about the fantasy. The fantasies were nice, but they were just that. There was something about this girl that seemed familiar to her. It was like a memory that didn't want to be remembered.

One night an old man, no an old gentleman, with grey hair came out with her. Her arms were hooked in his, and her smile was the brightest Eponine had ever seen. He smiled indulgently at her as she tugged at him and excitedly showed him around the garden. She seemed so comfortable in his presence, that Eponine inferred that was probably some sort of relative. Eponine didn't have any relatives like that. No relatives who would smile so kindly at her, and treat her so delicately as though she was made of porcelain. After that night he became part of her fantasy.

An old, grandfatherly gentleman who would smile at her, and stroke her hair, and treat her as if she was made of glass. He would kiss the top of her head when she was sad and buy her chocolates and give her books to read.

The introduction of this new character in her life made her more restless than usual. She slept in the hovel of a flat that her family rented and tossed and turned and whimpered until her father threw a shoe at her and told her to shut up or get out. So she forced herself into a somewhat peaceful rest and dreamed.

And now dear reader, we're at the part of the story where our protagonist gets some well deserved clarity. Remembering something you've suppressed for years isn't a fun or easy feeling, it's painful and traumatizing. No one wants to remember something that they've tried so hard to forget that their subconscious did it for them. So when Eponine woke up, with a start, there were tears streaming down her face. Eponine wasn't some silly girl who'd go running out of her bed the moment she got upset, she knew better than to walk the streets of Paris this late at night; so she just lay on the bed she shared with her sister and took deep breaths until morning.

She used to remember her childhood as a pleasant one. One filled with frills, curls, lace bonnets and pretty dolls. She looked the perfect little lady and she remembered it vividly. The memories of that life are what she clung to when she was in the darkest depths of filth. She deserved that life. It suited her and her family and she wanted it back. She wasn't delusional. She knew that that she'd never get it back, but it never stopped from wanting. When she stole off of unsuspecting gentlemen or lied and conned people out of money. She's rarely ever felt regret when doing those things because she couldn't find it in herself to care about those self serving bourgeois pigs. She rarely ever felt regret.

Now though, my dear reader, she felt it coursing through her veins like poison. Regret reader. Regret. It wouldn't do to compare regret to an old friend. No, regret is more reminiscent of a condescending parent. At a first glance you think it means well, and then you notice its sneer, its ability to make you feel so little. Regret, for those who don't know, was friend to self pity, unwitting ally to self doubt and family to those small stirrings of self hatred. Eponine, who had in her life never felt any of these things, was thrown into the ocean without a raft.

You see in her childhood, her lovely and pleasant childhood, other than her and her sister, there was a child. She was a wretched thing really. Surviving on scraps she was better off than the cat but worse off than the dog. She was child who wasn't quite a child, a person who was not quite a person. When the girl, Eponine couldn't quite remember her name, had left it was like the passing of a rodent. After the smell was gone it was unnoticed by everyone in the house. Perhaps they'd get a new servant, perhaps not but it was an uninteresting occasion. The gentleman though, he was the one to startle Eponine into remembering. There were vague memories of him buying a beautiful doll and giving it to the girl, but children have fickle minds in these matters, her jealousy had faded and she and Azelma found new playthings.

This girl had caused disruption in Eponine's mind. From rags to riches, a direct reverse of Eponine's life. The lark had grown into her beauty. How was it that this girl became so lucky? How was it that Eponine wasn't? How was it that she could have treated her fairytale princess with such cruelty? Her mind, of course, tried to make excuses.

Children shouldn't be blamed for how they treat people; their minds are still too young to know right from wrong.

Her parents were to blame, quite obviously, for setting such a horrid example, she just treated The Lark the way she saw others treat her.

Such excuses were quickly dashed. She wasn't a stupid child like those village brats. She resented the idea that she was ever that unknowing. She knew what was just and what wasn't. She didn't so much learn that from her parents, but from the stories her mother read to her. Men finding golden coins and turning their wretched lives into happiness a the whole helping the unfortunate along the way or Paupers being saved from their evil families and turned into princesses, she tried not to dwell on the irony of the latter. What she did dwell on however was the prospect of going back to the garden. On one hand, watching The Lark has become her favourite pastime, but on the other hand she felt such overwhelming guilt that she didn't know what going back there would do to her.

So the question here is will our protagonist still go back to the place of fantasy that has now been tarnished with the memories of the past?

The answer is yes. For the contrast between what your mind tells you and what your heart tells you is a strange one. The combination of logic and emotion is not a phenomenon as most people would have you believe. In fact it is something we all do unbeknownst to ourselves. We search our hearts to tell us how to feel and our brain to tell us how to act. One cannot run their lives solely by following their heart, the mind is just as important as the soul. So Eponine went back the next night.

The girl, The Lark was sat on her bench and this night her hair was free. She brushed it gently; the russet tinged brown mane complimenting with her nightgown beautifully. Eponine watched as she brushed her hair as though she was in a dreamless sleep, and then she picked up a round object that was on the bench next to her, and- oh yes, a crown of flowers. How fitting. Somewhat off her game because of last night's disturbance, Eponine let out a sigh. She stiffened, however, when she saw The Lark's eyes blink to attentiveness; peaceful one moment and alert the next.

"Who goes there!" she heard the voice cry out and after a moment of complete silence. "I am not afraid so you best show yourself."

Eponine considered bolting out of there. She was a quick runner; what she wasn't, was a coward.

She sighed again as she jumped the rusty gate. The Lark's eyes widened as she looked at her, as though she expected that what she heard was nothing but the wind.

"Mademoiselle please," Eponine, who had forsaken argot a while after her visits to the Rue Plumet spoke clearly. It felt as though the world was shaking as she spoke. "I'm truly sorry for trespassing but sometimes I come here at night and watch. I know it's a disturbing thought, someone watching you when you do not know, but sometimes a girl cannot help her fancies can she? If you are to report me-"

"Oh dear." The Lark interrupted her frenzied speech. "You're shivering."

And she was. She vaguely noticed that it wasn't the earth that was shaking, it was her. Everything was a flurry as she was rushed inside by the princess wearing the crown of flowers. It felt surreal. She didn't even realize she was inside the house until she felt a cup of tea thrust in her hands and The Lark's hands resting on what she now realized was a dining table.

"Are you okay?" The Lark asked. She sat next to her "I didn't mean to frighten you; I don't like making people feel anything that isn't good. What's your name? I'm called Cosette, if that makes you feel more comfortable. I've seen you about town before haven't I? When my Papa and I come from church and hand out alms? Is that why you're here? I think I've seen you go with a dark haired fellow. He looks charming. I suppose he's your very own gentleman?" She trailed off at Eponine's bemused look.

"You're talking to me about Montparnasse? He only comes to me when he doesn't want to waste money on a whore." Eponine replied bluntly, answering only the last sentence the girl uttered.

"Oh." Cosette's eyes widened and she ducked her head. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to presume."

"It's okay. He likes me well enough and he treats me nice most times. He'd like me even more if I was prettier. I'm quite beautiful actually but he has that high falutin' taste. He'd probably want a girl that looks like you. You look like a proper lady." Eponine's mouth kept running and she was angry at herself for it. She was never this open with anyone. Her secrets were as precious to her as her memories, and here she was blurting them out without a second thought. She silenced herself as fast as she'd started talking. "Thank you for your kindness ma'am but I think I should take my leave now. I'm sorry for disturbing you in any way."

"Wait!" Cosette cried out before Eponine had the chance to stand. "Will you at least tell me your name?"

Eponine sighed. This is part of the reason she wanted to leave. She'd always been a splendid liar, but this time she didn't want to. "My name's Eponine ma'am, Eponine Thenardier."

Cosette's head tilted to the side and responded thoughtfully. "That name sounds familiar. I knew a woman with that name once. I was terrified of her I think. I was never sure if she was real or if she was just the monster of some nightmare. Do you know her? Are you related?" She asked before huffing a tiny laugh. "I'm being silly. I gave you a last name, one that belongs to you and asked you if you knew anyone of the name. I hope you don't think me foolish. If you want to leave you can, but you can also stay for dinner if you wish."

"I don't want your charity ma'am." Eponine replied stiffly. She was being genuine with that statement but she was also troubled because of that tiny speech. The Lark-Cosette was her name. Cosette remembered; which means she hates her, or she'll remember and then her. Either way her heart already felt broken.

"If you don't want to stay, at least drink your tea." Cosette pleaded, obviously grasping at straws.

Eponine sat back down; she was trespassing after all, and sipped her tea which had gone cold. Cosette kept her there talking about nothing and everything. She talked about her Papa, her reading, her garden, the time spent at the convent, the walks she and her Papa took to the Luxembourg Garden, and Eponine indulged her. As proud as she was, she wasn't too proud to eat. So when Cosette's maid came out with two plates of food, a glass of wine and two glasses of water, she didn't say no.

For the first time of the night Eponine didn't focus on Cosette. She ate with gusto, it was coq au vin and a baguette, she couldn't remember the last time she had any meat. Cosette looked at her once or twice; it was obvious that she wanted to talk about something, or anything, but Eponine was too hungry to care.

When they were finished Cosette seemed at a loss for what to say, and Eponine decided she deserved an explanation.

"Cosette," The girl in question seemed relieved that Eponine started talking. "I should mention to you that we have met before. We knew each other for a long time actually." Cosette looked confused at that but Eponine went on. "I don't know if you remember, but when we were children you lived with me and my family and we treated you terribly. I don't know if you remember. I hope that you don't, but you associate the name Thenardier with monsters for a reason. I feel terribly for the way my family treated you, for the way I treated you. We were monsters and for that I am sorry. My mother and father were the reason for the way me and my sister acted, but I can still accept my part. I even accept some of the part they played. I don't deserve your forgiveness and I don't expect it. The reason I came here tonight and all those other nights was...I was sad I suppose, and I was sorry and I wanted to see you, I even wanted your life. I still do, but I know I can't have it. I'm the devil and I'm paying for my sins with a lifetime in hell. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Cosette stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. Eponine felt ready to run, her every instinct telling her to escape. Eponine looked at her; the delicate frame, her softness, the way her lips quivered. All the signs of a distressed woman of wealth, which would be something she took pleasure in, sad, rich women were usually guilty in her experience and they loved to give their money, but now it made her feel terrible.

"I really should go now. I'm sorry. I'm-I have to go." This time Cosette made no move to stop her. It wasn't until she was out in the garden again that Cosette actually caught up with her. She took the crown of flowers off of her head and placed it securely on Eponine's.

"You are deserving of forgiveness Eponine Thenardier, and I am giving it to you now. I am sorry you felt racked with such guilt. I'm sorry for what your life's become, for you and you and your family, and I do not hold our childhoods against you. I do not think you are any lesser than me now that our roles are reversed, and if you so desire you can come here to see me whenever you wish. I..." She faltered for the first time since speaking. "I don't have many friends and I have longed for companionship for a long time. Oh I know what I desire and what you desire are two different things, but we can help each other can we not? You can give me the friendship I so dearly need and I can help you."

Eponine sighed. This was the thing with princesses. Their world and her world could never meet. "I thank you Cosette. I do. You're very kind when I don't deserve it." She ignored Cosette's cry of "Everyone deserves kindness!" and continued. "But you speak of something that's better left to fairytales. You can't help me anymore than I can help you. You want a forced friendship with me because you're alone, and I want your life because I just want some happiness. There's no way for both our worlds to coincide without a lot of anger and doubt and mistrust and I may be selfish in this aspect but I don't want your pity or your friendship or whatever this is at the expense of my eventual unhappiness. I have enough of that as it is."

Eponine left her in the garden standing speechless. She stopped by the river on her walk home to wash her face and to have a drink. She considered drowning herself in the river again, not out of self pity or anything silly like that. She just thought of how much easier it would be. Painless. Drowning takes less time than starving to death, or freezing to death, or being beaten and killed. It seemed the best way to go, but as fast as the idea came it went. When death came for her it would come, and she will have a choice. She just wouldn't make the choice now. The last time she made this decision she chanced upon Cosette's garden. This time she walked straight home. In any case, the water was as cold as it was before.

* * *

Eponine cradled the crown in her hands and thought of princesses and castles and the price paid in suffering for someone's future refinement. She knew she'd never get that, it was too late for her. She'd only get the suffering. She walked into her family's tiny flat, her mother and sister were there lying on their beds and her father immediately accosted her.

"There's a new bloke living next door. He looked a little too stiff to be a pauper." Her father said the moment she entered the room. "I sent Azelma over but he's as bloody poor as the rest of us. Fucking waste of time that was. I need you to go check out the Pabourgeot house for me on Rue aux Fers. Do you want to take Azelma with you or do I need to fetch Montparnasse?"

Eponine forced a smile and replied. "Zelma will be fine." But he had already turned and was talking to her mother.

She took the crown adorned with flowers and shoved it under her pillow on the bed she shared with her sister.

Nothing's wrong with dreaming. And it was in Eponine's nature to do a little dreaming every once and a while.

* * *

**_AN:_**

**_I'm actually quite proud of this fic. Sometimes I doubt myself too much when it comes to characterization, but I think I got it pretty well here. Cosette's fierce determination and her capacity for love and forgiveness, her lonliness andher naiveté; and then Eponine's habit of desiring things that she thinks she deserves and going out of her way to get herself in that position, how closed and guarded she is, how clever._**

**_The title is from That The Night Come by W.B Yeats. It's where I got the inspiration for this story. It's a poem that fits Eponine's life beautifully and tragically._**

**_If you have any questions please feel free to ask. Comments and constructive criticism are both greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading._**


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